


Surrogate

by elbowsinsidethedoor



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:18:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbowsinsidethedoor/pseuds/elbowsinsidethedoor
Summary: An AU snapshot of how John and Harold need and help one another.





	

"I'm not sure if this is ethically sanctioned behavior," Harold said. He said it but was well past caring whether it was or not. His face was growing warm, his body aroused, and he was grateful for the low lighting.

"I'm not your therapist," the man said.

Harold, perched on a tall barstool, took a sip of his drink. He wasn't much of a drinker but the top shelf whiskey tasted … necessary. The man he was speaking to was standing so close that Harold could feel the heat of him on his thigh.

They were in a nightclub, a place he couldn't have imagined the existence of, let alone pictured his presence in only weeks before. It was a place where a certain type of man of means went to enjoy the company of other men. Located in a midtown high-rise hotel, there was music, soft enough to allow conversation but sufficient to give privacy. No one was out on the small dance floor.

Harold had asked the young bartender, “Do people ever dance.”

“Not this early in the evening. Later it gets more crowded and the DJ changes.”

“I see,” Harold had said, hoping the man who was meeting him would not want to stay for loud music and dancing.

Most of the men were congregated at one or another of the multiple small bars or settled into one of the deep-cushioned booths. One flight up were luxury suites designed to cater to the patrons. Harold had secured one for the night.

It was because of the man now beside him that he had taken it upon himself to discover a place like this … and much more to the point, that he and Grace had respectfully ended their engagement.

John Reese wasn’t his therapist, that was true. But it was in the context of therapy that Harold had met him. Relationship counseling. Grace wanted to address issues they were having before they moved on toward marriage. Sexual stumbling blocks. Specifically, Harold's physical shyness and erectile difficulties. Grace believed in the benefits of ongoing therapy the way another person might believe in the benefit of weekly attendance at church. Harold had found it strange but there was little he wouldn’t do to try to make their relationship work.

He learned through months of weekly sessions that both Grace and her doctor thought his problems were rooted in his largely isolated, motherless childhood. Exacerbated somehow by the trauma he'd suffered as a victim in a terrorist bombing. These factors, they believed, had affected his ability to express himself physically in a loving relationship. His intense focus on his work was part of it. They saw it as a coping mechanism, an attempt to remain isolated. Harold tried to be open minded. It seemed possible that these things did have a hand in shaping the man he was.

There was some progress, here and there some success, but not enough for Grace to feel confident moving forward. Dr Madani broached the possibility of a more targeted approach, a surrogate session where a professional would engage with them to promote touching and intimacy. Harold had reluctantly agreed to it. He loved Grace deeply and was distraught by his inability to express his feelings for her physically.

The sexual surrogate therapy could be said to have worked, in a way. Even though it never progressed beyond the therapist’s introductory talk, Harold understood, meeting the eyes of the surrogate, before anyone's robe was removed, the exact nature of his issues.

In what had felt like a lifetime of gazing, Harold became deaf to the talk around them. His mouth grew moist as he looked at the man’s lips and he imagined kissing him, he felt an ache of need as he contemplated the man’s nakedness under the robe. Aroused and longing he’d looked into the stranger’s eyes and seen his feelings mirrored there; a yearning toward him that was intense. He’d wanted to take the man in his arms and hold him as much as he longed to make love to him.

"Harold.” Grace's voice repeating his name startled him out of the moment and he’d turned to her. The sight of her beloved face filled him with affection and remorse.

"I'm so sorry," he'd said. "I can't go through with the session."

Two weeks had passed since then.

Why this man and no other had made him recognize himself, Harold couldn’t say. He'd certainly known attractive men. Admired them without feeling aroused by them. This awakening, however, was undeniable. He was haunted by thoughts of the surrogate. As if inhabiting a dream he would sink into reveries … remembering his eyes, conjuring up his long, strong-looking body, his handsome face. Picturing him in his arms.

"Thank you for meeting with me,” Harold said, making himself look up. The rest of his sentence disappeared. Up close the effect of meeting John Reese's eyes took his words away.

“I’m glad you called me,” he said.

 

***

John was not a club or lounge kind of guy but he'd been willing to meet anywhere Harold wanted. He judged this place and Harold himself to be way out of his league but the low lighting was kind to the contrast in the quality of their clothes. Harold being so well-off was a strike against John's chances, but not fatal.

He wanted to touch him, to kiss him. In every spare moment for two weeks he'd thought about little else; imagining it, hoping for it.

From the moment he'd laid eyes on Harold Martin he’d been unable to look away from him. He’d studied his features, his expression. It was as if he were recognizing someone. Someone he knew. While Dr Madani was introducing the session’s aims and ground rules the man had looked up and caught him staring. John wanted to look away but couldn't. The owlish blue eyes had met his and the whole setting, the session, the job became nothing but a backdrop.

Harold had abruptly stopped the session before it could begin, much to John's relief. Surrogacy demanded a much cooler, more level-headed state of mind than he was in and the last thing in the world he wanted was to guide this person to intimacy with someone else. His relief was followed by panic that he'd never see him again. What pretext or context could he contrive to meet him? And if he could think of a way, were there ethical constraints that would put him out of reach? He agonized over these questions as he waited, hanging back unseen until the couple left. He needed to talk to Madani about what had happened, what he felt.

"Don't try to contact him, John,” was Madani’s advice. “Technically, you didn’t work with him but he views you in a particular role and he’s in a vulnerable state. If he reaches out to you on a professional basis I would advise against seeing him as a client. Where a strong attraction exists … it only confuses the work. If he reaches out to you on a personal level, that’s your choice to make."

So John had waited, praying Harold would reach out. When he did … John would have agreed to meet him anywhere.

The whiskey was smooth and warmed his mouth and lips. He turned toward Harold, watched him tip his glass to drink. The feeling of knowing him blended with wanting to know him, of belonging with him. Was it because he’d spent so much time thinking about him or had he been obsessed with him because there was really something between them. Harold set his drink down on the bar. John could see a shine from the liquor on his lips when he turned a little on the stool, his head turned very slightly.

He knew about the man’s injuries, the upright posture, some limited mobility. The physical issues as well as Madani’s assessment of PTSD had prompted him to contact John for the surrogacy, likening it to his work with veterans. John didn’t sense the disorder in Harold. What he saw was strength, unhampered by shame or aggression.

Harold was in easy reach, perched invitingly on the bar stool, like a perfectly wrapped gift in his fine clothes. John wanted to kiss him, could practically feel how good it would be. Harold’s mouth was endlessly fascinating to him, the upper lip with its thoughtful peaks seemed to express intelligence, the bottom lip fuller, sensuous, with a little scar that pulled just a bit to one side. So tender-looking. John moved slowly, slowly enough to allow Harold to stop him if he wanted to. But he didn't stop him. This, John thought, was the promise he’d read in him, a kiss that felt like a homecoming. Welcoming, subtly giving and taking; the softness of an intimacy he could sink deep inside.

John was hard, his erection skimmed Harold’s thigh. He drew back slightly, ending the kiss. Harold was inexperienced, that much he knew, and as drawn as he felt to him he checked himself, not wanting to overwhelm him.

Harold was looking down at his drink and John wondered if he’d pushed too far. Then the man looked up and his blue eyes were bright.

“I think this may be the appropriate time,” Harold said, “to mention that I rented a room for us.” His quiet voice was sure and steady. Not overwhelmed. John had to close his eyes for a moment in the warm rush of his gratitude.

 

***

Harold was exhilarated. He felt he might be giving off sparks of happiness every time he glanced at John. For all the intense masculinity, the height and the strength that was evident in him, John Reese seemed surprisingly demure when the elevator closed them into a private space. It gave Harold an unaccustomed sensation of power, of being in control.

“What I’d like,” John said, as the car moved upward, “is if you’d hold me a little while. Before we go much further.” He was looking down as he spoke, somewhat shyly. He had a beautiful voice, Harold thought, listening intently; thinking he could hear the sound forever and not grow tired of it. 

“I’d like that … very much,” Harold said.

Harold hung their jackets in the closet, imagining as he hung John’s beside his, what a pleasure it would be to dress the man in clothing worthy of his great beauty. In time, he thought. To say such a thing now, he feared it would sound too much like offering to pay for his services.

He had looked into what he could find of John’s history. Given his skill with computers, he found more than most people could have. He’d been surprised to discover John’s marriage and divorce in the midst of his military career. He’d been wounded multiple times in combat and received treatment for PTSD. He’d become an advocate for veterans and very recently a surrogate. His training was in treating PTSD related sexual dysfunction. No doubt, Harold thought, it was the reason Madani had chosen him to work with him and Grace.

There was nothing in the man’s behavior to suggest he was “treating” him. Harold watched him slide off his shoes, divest himself of his tie and his belt. He could see that he was aroused but there was no sense of urgency in his behavior.

No doubt his experience with injuries, his work with the wounded informed his actions but Harold marveled at how John simply arranged pillows exactly as he’d need them to be comfortable on the bed.

“Thank you,” he said, “that’s perfect.” He lay back, part-reclined, finding support everywhere he needed it. He opened his arms and sighed with satisfaction as John fitted himself into his embrace. Harold closed his eyes, breathing deeply, feeling something completed in the act of holding.

You can lay your burdens down, he thought, I’ll take care of you.

**Author's Note:**

> This could have been a long story but I'm swearing off for the moment. Thanks for reading!


End file.
